Before my surgery last month I had become interested in swimming. Took six months’ worth of lessons and determined I would master that most difficult of strokes, the butterfly. Was moving along quite well in that direction too.
But the trip to St. Joseph Memorial Hospital in South Bend slowed me down as far as the butterfly was concerned. In fact, it slowed me down as far as any kind of swimming stroke is concerned, because my doctor told me not to swim for six weeks after surgery.
I felt – if you’ll pardon the expression – like a fish out of water. Like a beached whale. Or maybe like one of those poor creatures covered in oil in the Gulf. Except that I didn’t have to rely on a bevy of environmentalists to get me back in the water. I only had to convince my doctor it would enhance my recovery rather than impede it.
Of course he was skeptical, but I argued for the qualities of relaxation and weightlessness that come with being in the water. I promised only to float back and forth in the pool and not put undue strain on my core muscles. I must have been convincing because he relented at week two. In appreciation, I waited until week three to don my suit and flippers and goggles and hit the pool.
It was wonderful, even if I lasted just fifteen minutes before tiring. That was three weeks ago, and I’m coming up on the magical six week number soon. I can then go back to lifting weights and biking and maybe rollerblading too. After I perfect my butterfly.
Leave a Reply